


Seeing

by alafaye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-06 23:24:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alafaye/pseuds/alafaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's up to something; Sherlock doesn't pay much attention until it might be too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mydwynter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydwynter/gifts).



> Written for the 2013 winter holmestice for mydwynter, originally posted [here](http://holmestice.livejournal.com/261038.html).

John...was up to something. Sherlock watched with narrowed eyes and behind a paper as John, humming, brought up yet _another_ package. Wrapped in brown paper, it was a small box, but contained obviously delicate items. In the last week, John had received two other packages; one had been as tall as John and thin. The other had been a large box, but contained items that John had not been particular about as he'd dropped it when Sherlock had dashed out of the flat to a case. (John had naturally followed, hence dropping the box.)

Sherlock did not like December, aside from the unusual cases that could happen due to so many family members gathering in close quarters. It was too bright, too false, too... He sniffed and turned back to his paper. In time, he would gain more information about John's packages. There was no rush because John could keep no secrets from him; John would, in one fashion or another, reveal what he was doing. For Sherlock was sure that all of the packages were linked, connected, leading to...something.

John set the package down by the door and continued to the kitchen for a cup of tea. By habit, he made tea for two; Sherlock took only a moment to decide he did not want tea, but he did appreciate the thought. However, before he could tell John that he did not want any, John had set a cup in front of Sherlock and was gone upstairs, with his package. Sherlock turned back to his paper, looking for anything interesting.

~~~

Decorations. There were decorations in the sitting room; why? John wasn't home, coat and shoes both gone. Not in hurry, though--his cup was in the sink and his page marked with a bookmark. Sherlock turned to the decorations littering the sitting room, stepping carefully because one never knew. (His brain, distracted, remembered a case from the seventies in Sweden involving a family feud, a clever bomb specialist, and a glass ornament.) The table contained the brown paper from John's packages, labelled with the messy hand of an alcoholic. _Harry._

A note, in the mess of it all. Sherlock twisted his head to read it. (He could put it back where he found it or just set it down; John would never know, but Sherlock liked the challenge of contorting his body to read the note, testing his abilities, seeing if he could push himself to read and find clues without moving anything. Difficult sometimes. But John had just left this note out in the open for anyone--even Anderson--to read.)

_Johnny,_

_I can't believe you want these old things after you told me you didn't._ Interesting. John didn't want something of his family? Another alcoholic family member? _I kept them, meaning to use them one day._ She meant to get clean and have a family? Fascinating. Addicts were fascinating, Sherlock himself included. _I suppose, though, that now you've claimed your right to them, you can have them._ How...condescending. No wonder John reacted as he did at times. This had the tone of familiarity and if John had endured that for long enough...filed. _Don't break any of them again, Johnny. Grandma will be displeased._ Oh, bad. Sherlock pursed his lips at the hurt contained in one little sentence. John did not deserve to be hurt.

 _Will I see you for Christmas or will you be too busy setting up your family with Sherlock?_ Hmm, an interesting remark. There were whispers of course, rumours and ideas of Sherlock and John's relationship; Sherlock was not as blind to them as John thought he was. But for John's sister, an alcoholic and one who spent little time in her brother's life, it was unusual.

_Harry_

Sherlock looked up and around again. Of course. Two weeks until the official holiday and John would be the sort to like the presentation of it all. Yet they had been living together--on and off, given Sherlock's year on the run and underground--for four years now. In that time, John had not shown a predisposition to liking the holiday. To wanting to celebrate it with Sherlock. (One spare thought, forgotten, of their first year together; a set of new slides in December that had appeared by the microscope. He had thought it from Mycroft, but thinking now...perhaps?)

Oh, there had been that party, just before Sherlock had jumped. A hasty, thrown- together celebration. As little involved as possible. John forcing Sherlock to participate, but it had felt off, been off, wasn't right. Sherlock had wanted to be as far from the flat as possible, had always hated Christmas. (Reason deleted naturally; wasn't important.) But it had been John asking, John wanting Sherlock to prove...what? He was human? Sherlock couldn't remember now; must not have been important.

What had changed?

Sherlock flung his coat in the direction of the hook and stepped over the decorations so he could settle on the sofa. A quick dig through the cushions and he had a patch. And two; this was a two patch problem. John was never anything less.

~~~

 _Oh._ Sherlock opened his eyes and mind and ears and found himself looking at a darkened ceiling. Three hours had passed, his brain quickly supplied, but...it was not the usual colour. He rolled and stretched his muscles, felt them warm up, and turned his head. John, sipping more tea and reading his book. He'd turned on the radio at some point and it was softly playing instrumental versions of holiday songs. A concession to Sherlock? Middle ground?

The fire was lit, casting shadows and lighting up part of John. Old fashioned, John was, perfectly suited to sitting by a lit fire and listening to the radio. Sherlock could see perfectly well John before an electric fire and watching the telly, but something in John was made for this scene. Sherlock filed all of it away for later reference and sat up. Cup of tea on the coffee table for him, but it was cold now. How long had John been home?

Mmm, long enough for the sitting room floor to be cleared of the decorations. The long package that had first arrived had been opened and the tree contained inside was propped in front of the bookcase (Oh, John, what if I need those books?); the delicate third package, its insides arranged neatly, orderly, on the tree. (Likely to stop Sherlock from just crashing the tree to the ground in his hunt for a book; clever John.) The second package was on the walls, some draped over the moose. Lights (discolouration in ceiling; noted, filed; useful to know one's homebase), garland, popcorn strings (preserved well by John's father, a doctor in his own right? or plastic?).

Sherlock sat up and peeled off the patches. Useless now. He ignored John watching him (making a face as the patches fell to the floor; Sherlock had never claimed to be a tidy flatmate) and went to the kitchen to check on the cow ears (sitting in acid from a human stomach; important to a man in the Highlands; will determine accusations of cannibalism). Even still, part of his mind focused on John, the decorations, the shift, _them_.

Interesting. Very interesting. How best to...

Oh, the cow ears did not resemble the human ears at all. Excellent.

~~~

Two days and a return trip to Scotland later, Sherlock's mind returned to John, their flat, the hesitancy. The case had not taken much time once Sherlock had submitted his comparison and investigated the details. Especially once he'd met the victim's nephew. Open and shut; almost not worth it. John was thrilled, of course. The case had involved premeditation, a sexual secret, a plot twist (the cow ears had been quite the turn, Sherlock would give that much). On the trip home, John had begun reviewing his notes, asking Sherlock for details, naming it.

Sherlock began another experiment as soon as he got home (running it for Lestrade who had texted Sherlock the details of another case on the way home) and then settled into his chair as John-and-him resurfaced. More pressing; Lestrade's case not. (Cold case, suspected domestic gone wrong, but Lestrade saw more. Sherlock was willing to help; Lestrade was the smartest man at the Yard and if he suspected more, Sherlock was willing to at least experiment.) John put on the radio again, again the instrumentals, and began making a list in the kitchen, looking in the fridge and cabinets. Sherlock listened with half an ear: "Goose? no, something else; look through the store...parsnips?...milk...tea...pie?...beans..."

Sherlock instinctively wrinkled his nose; it sounded as though he would be forced to eat a rather substantial meal on the day. (Another reason to dislike Christmas.)

But John did it out of...concern? Care? Sherlock's mind supplied numerous words, but the ones that best fit were the ones that he suspected were linked to this change in John's actions. Sherlock flipped through the last days, weeks, months; John's actions, words, treatment of and toward Sherlock. Lack of female company notable. Harry's note. John's website?

Moments later, despite John's yell of indignation, Sherlock was scrolling through John's website on John's laptop (was closer than Sherlock's) and noting the change in the entries and the words John had used. Always useful, words. Sometimes there were too many or not enough and sometimes the choice, oh, the choice of word, that could reveal everything (remembering one fascinating case where one word had been enough to jail a man for murder; that had been brilliant). John thought himself clever, hiding it, his emotion; he had thought no one had known, not even Sherlock. 

Well, he hadn't known, but now, now it was obvious. Sherlock couldn't look away. He looked up from the computer as John finished his list and set it on the fridge with a magnet, gift from Mrs. Hudson ages ago now. John asked about dinner; Sherlock muttered something, focusing. John rolled his eyes, but fondly, and pulled out the menu for the Chinese place where they got the least food poisoning. (Note: look into possible scenario of person who would delight in poisoning people by Chinese food.)

Hours pass; Sherlock allows John to use his computer to begin typing up the case and Sherlock folds himself up, thinking and adding and dismissing and deciding.

~~~

Sherlock decides in the early hours that he _wants_ John. In exactly the way John wants him. He climbs up to the second floor, to John's room, removes his robe, deciding John would like the pleasure of them undressing each other. Climbs into the bed, kisses John awake.

John...is surprised and upset and why? Sherlock studies John, his face and gestures and the way he wraps his hands around Sherlock's arms. He's saying that he doesn't know what got into Sherlock, but he wants it stopped, he won't be part of an experiment, thank you very much and why did Sherlock have to do this?

Confused. Sherlock is confused. He sits up, away from John. Doesn't John want this, want Sherlock? No, he isn't asexual, but he is very selective about his partners; they have to please his mind, please him, accept him. John does this; Sherlock didn't know he wanted John, like this, until John made the first move.

Hadn't he?

Oh, John had been hoping against hope, as the saying goes. Sherlock scoffs at his mind as John continues, a verbal litany that he can't seem to stop. Sherlock decides to stop John himself.

~~~

John's body is glorious, hiding secrets and stories and is responsive to Sherlock. More than the gasps and moans and growls that fall from John's mouth, a verbal outpouring equal to John's words about Sherlock (and his methods and mind); this, this is a gift more precious than the new slides and showing Sherlock the family heirlooms. This is more than John starting a dance without a word, without asking.

Sherlock takes in all that he can, but it's more than a night's worth and that is priceless, this gift, because it means more nights and studies and Sherlock intends to have as many as he can.

Christmas is still without merit, but Sherlock will allow it the smallest concession of existence if only because it gave him John.


End file.
